Funk-O-Meter

Two days ago Ian came home in a funk.  A seminar that he'd hoped would inspire and enlighten served more to dismay and stamp on dreams.  Isn't that always the way?  In a rare switch of roles I was the chipper one.  Rubbing his shoulders.  Distracting his worried eyes at the dinner table with a goofy grin and a few "go give daddy extra snuggles" secret missions.  Of course my boy bounced back the next day.  He's not usually one to stay down long, but then somehow the funk breezed over my way and it's holding strong.

To be honest these past few weeks have been that way.  I've had far too many "ah, now I remember why I HATE the third trimester" moments.  Moments of near panic there's so much to do!  there's a baby coming! it's really happening, SOON! Moments of complete pessimism and despair what were we thinking?  I can't successfully parent three kids, I can barely handle the two I have right now! how will we pay for family trips let alone college?!?!? But mostly moments of complete bodily frustration and disgust.  Don't even get me started on getting dressed in the morning, YUCK.

then just as quickly as swiftly as the mood grips me, it lightens it's hold.  Allows me into a normal person's brain for long enough to realize how cray-cray I sound.  Because really, there's not THAT much to do.  Thank goodness for hand me down onesies, cloth diapers and boobs.  REALLY that's all a little newborn needs for a while right?  And as for parenting and finances?  If we can make it through 5+ years on a grad student stipend I truly believe we can make it through anything.  And my body?  I know it much better this time.  know that it bounces back (with a bit of nudging and discipline of course).  I'm thankful that once again there seem to be no signs of stretch marks or lasting scars (other than that tiny tummy I know will most likely always be where my pride and joy washboard once stood).  It's all good really.

That's not to say it's not hard.Because it is.  So so hard.  This is the part that somehow gets blissfully filed away under "momnesia" after a few weeks postpartum   Because I'm convinced that if moms did remember ever detail there would be a WHOLE lot more only children around.

Everything hurts.  I can barely move.  I'm hungry all the time but a few bites of food is all I can manage before I feel uncomfortably, gas inductively  full.  I walk like an emperor penguin (and not in that cool slide on the belly way).  I feel like a walking joke, a comical side kick.  The Impossibly Pregnant Lady!  Really, circus music could cue as I waddle down the stairs in the morning and I wouldn't bat an eye.  It's hard to feel like an alternate version of yourself.  A human incubator.  A whiny, immobile, half self. Sigh.

So right now it feels good to wallow.  Good to remember that tomorrow I'll most likely feel better and that no matter how these next 5 weeks go down, soon after? it'll be worth it a million times over.

Just keep swimming right? Or waddling in my case.  Just. Keep. Waddling.